


The Captains' Dance

by CarrieL



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Caretaker episode gone wild, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieL/pseuds/CarrieL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU introduction to the whole Voyager series, to put the odd J/C relationship in a different light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Highly Risky Maneuver

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat watching the man beside her, the near-stranger she must now trust with the lives of all her crew. She had understood him the moment he spoke the words “Captains’ Dance.” The practice dated from the earliest days of space exploration, long before humans entered the game, although human captains had engaged in the practice from time to time. Starfleet considered it part of the mythology of space travel and took no formal position on its propriety. Janeway had first heard it explained during an Academy training exercise led by a Vulcan professor named Sunek. They were simulating first contact situations when another cadet raised the question of a mysterious ritual known as the Captains’ Dance.

Sunek had hesitated, then suspended the simulation to sit the cadets down on a rock outcropping for some impromptu instruction. 

“The Captains’ Dance,” he had explained, “is a highly risky maneuver attempted only in survival situations where trust must be forged quickly. It is possible in first contact situations, and therefore relevant to today’s instructional goals. A Captains’ Dance takes place in private between two starship captains. During the encounter, the goal is to share the maximum degree of physical and emotional intimacy, to share personal secrets that will allow each captain a rare degree of insight into the other’s character.”

“Exactly what kind of physical intimacy are you talking about?” asked the cadet who had brought up the subject, a Bajoran named Chalan Morio who specialized in awkward questions. “Do you mean sex?”

Sunek, being Vulcan, did not stumble over his answer. “For Vulcans, who are physiologically incompatible with many Alpha quadrant races, the Captains’ Dance typically consists only of a deep mind meld – the deepest form of intimacy for a Vulcan, but not quite the full physical expression of the traditional Captains’ Dance. For sexually compatible captains, the ritual means sexual intimacy, an expression of trust and mutual vulnerability that can cement a shaky alliance.” 

Janeway had ventured a question. “Do the crews know what’s going on?” Although she had difficulty imagining circumstances in which she would consider a Captains’ Dance, she had far more difficulty imagining how she would explain it to her crew, let alone hold her head up around them afterward.

“A Captains’ Dance must be kept strictly private between the two leaders involved, and never mentioned after its conclusion,” Sunek had told them. “I warn against it for humans, although I must confess that my one experience with the ritual was a transformative moment in my life. My knowledge of my counterpart added greatly to my own comprehension of her species.”

“What species was that?” Chalan Morio had wanted to know.

“I cannot speak of it,” Sunek answered. 

Young Ensign Janeway had tried to ask more questions about the practicalities of the ritual, but Sunek had changed the subject to a discussion of the next set of tactical challenges in their training exercise. She remembered being very disappointed. She had come across mentions of the Captains’ Dance here and there in histories of space travel – Captain Kirk seemed to have been an enthusiastic practitioner – but until this day, she had found nobody willing to discuss what exactly the ritual was. Her father had reacted as if she’d asked about his own sex life and told her she had no reason to know about such things.

Then at the end of the exercise, as they were flying back to the starbase, Sunek had taken a seat beside her and said in a voice only she could hear: “You must only consider a Captains’ Dance with a worthy partner, someone with whom you would consider intimacy under less urgent circumstances. Consider carefully, but do not dismiss it out of hand. The value correlates highly with the risk.” 

Sunek had moved off quickly to finish his report on the training exercise and Janeway had been left with a sense that a door had opened on a dark and dangerous region, with no proper training on how to navigate. Aboard Voyager, faced with a dangerous new quadrant of space to navigate, the memory came back to her as fully formed as if Sunek had spoken his warning the day before.

Janeway had few officers to consult about staff choices. The decisions ultimately rested with her alone, but she would have appreciated Commander Cavit’s absurdly detailed and humorless staffing analyses – were he not lying in a morgue cooler in Sickbay. Tuvok had given his wise counsel about the need to integrate the crews while maintaining Starfleet standards, and his opinions about the merits of the senior Maquis crew. He approved of Chakotay, Torres, and Ayala, but suggested that a Bajoran woman Janeway hadn’t met yet was a loose cannon (not his term, but Janeway got the point) who should be settled on the nearest M class planet. 

The ship’s database held the full service records of all the candidates for bridge crew, including Captain Chakotay. Janeway had studied the file before the mission, but now she returned to it with even greater interest. Before resigning Starfleet to join the Maquis, he had been an exemplary officer, marked for the highest command. There could be no doubt about his qualifications as first officer. But trust was the essential thing. Given his Maquis past, would his loyalty really be to her and Voyager’s entire crew, or would he seek a different agenda? Would he undermine her? And what kind of man would throw away a Starfleet career to join a group so many labeled terrorists? There was no guidance but gut instinct on these critical questions.

Without the luxury of much time for contemplation, Janeway made the command decision she had been trained to make. While the Starfleet crew were still making repairs and the Maquis crew still confined to a cargo bay, she called Chakotay into her ready room. Without prelude, she offered him the position of first officer. He was standing in front of her desk, only a few feet from her, not at attention but not fully at ease. He still wore his Maquis clothing, not so much a uniform as a collection of comfortable clothes that probably hid stains, burns, and dirt better than hers. At her words, he gave a few short nods, as if he had been expecting this conversation.

“Are you really comfortable with a Maquis sitting right next to you on the bridge?” he asked. “Wasn’t your mission to arrest me?”

Janeway stepped out from behind the desk. He was tall enough that she strained to stand as straight as she could, almost on tip-toe in the high-heeled boots she used for what little increase in stature they could provide. She stayed a few feet from him, where she wouldn’t have to crane her neck quite so hard to look him in the eye. 

“It was,” she confirmed. “But as you know, everything’s changed. I have no new orders from Starfleet and I don’t expect more any time soon. We’ll have to make this up as we go along. My only condition is that we do it as a Starfleet crew.”

Chakotay looked her over, from the tight bun, to the uniform that she had kept crisp in spite of everything, to the polished boots. She knew how she looked. The more buttoned-up she was, the better crewmen listened and the higher they maintained their personal standards. It wasn’t her job to look approachable. She met his gaze with a defiant glare. Judge her, would he? She’d teach him a thing or two about running a starship before all this was over, she was sure of that.

“I’ll do it on one condition,” he answered. “I’ll be your Starfleet first officer, and I’ll help you incorporate the Maquis into a Starfleet crew, but first I need to know exactly who I’m dealing with.” Chakotay straightened a little himself, dramatizing the difference in their sizes. She felt not so much that he was trying to intimidate her, but that he wanted her to know he would defend his crew. As her first instinct had been when he appeared on her bridge, she found herself liking him in spite of herself. He seemed steady and earnest, nothing like the cocky space cowboy she’d pictured sparring with Tom Paris.

Janeway tilted her head. “Okay. What is your condition, then?”

Some expression she couldn’t identify passed across his face – part anxiety, part shadow. “I want a Captains’ Dance,” he said, in the same bold tones with which he might have demanded parley with a pirate captain. 

At first, she was so surprised she nearly laughed out loud. An instant later, the significance of his words gripped her fully. The keen look on her face drained away like water from a sieve. She swallowed. She knew that her Captain’s mask had fallen and left her face blank with shock. She struggled to regain the appearance of control. 

To be continued…


	2. The Value Correlates Highly With the Risk

“Captains’ Dance?” Janeway repeated, stalling for time to collect herself.

“You’re familiar with it?” Chakotay asked, although her reaction must have made that obvious.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin and took a little side step away from him. “You should know that I’m engaged.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And I have a relationship with one of the Maquis. The Captains’ Dance has nothing to do with the captains’ personal lives. It’s not a social interaction. It’s a trust ritual. Have you ever done it?”

“No,” she answered. A little gleam returned to her eyes. “Have you?” 

She certainly would not say yes to the sort of man who used the ritual as some sort of dating game, but he didn’t seem like that kind of man. He seemed reserved and private, a captain more in the tradition of Picard than Kirk, but with a different aspect from either of them – something spiritual, perhaps. All his Starfleet records bore out those personality traits. She acknowledged to herself the depth of her surprise at this request from a man like Chakotay. A Captains’ Dance would require the same depth of self-revelation from him as from her – if he played fair. She experienced a fresh conviction, born of what she couldn’t say, that he would play fair.

He shook his head without taking his eyes off her. “Never. It had never even occurred to me until this moment. But we’re both taking an enormous risk in trusting the other.”

Her mind leapt to the moment when he’d transported to her bridge and she’d faced off with him in defense of Tom Paris. Chakotay had looked down at her and something in his face had changed. She’d seen his eyes fall to her lips. In her gut, she suspected that he’d thought of the Captains’ Dance right then, but it didn’t matter. He was right. This decision they were making represented enormous risk for both of them, and for their crews. Each needed as much information about the other as they could possibly obtain.

“The value correlates highly with the risk,” she said. 

His eyebrows lifted slightly, questioningly.

“Something a professor once told me about the Captains’ Dance.”

His face grew reflective, as if he was perhaps drawing on his own cache of information about the Captains’ Dance. “What else did your professor tell you?”

Janeway half-turned away and put a hand to her tense neck muscles. “Not nearly enough,” she muttered. “What do you know about it?”

“I’ve been told,” he said, “that it means an exchange of vulnerabilities. The creation of a bond of trust. And it’s kept entirely private between the two captains.”

Janeway nodded. “Yes. That’s how I understand it. I was warned against it, for humans, but also told not to dismiss it out of hand.” She wanted to mention the sexual intimacy of which Sunek had spoken, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth under the bright lights of the ready room, in the presence of this near-stranger. Besides, he knew what he was proposing. The Captains’ Dance wouldn’t be a notorious, whispered secret if it meant nothing more than deep conversation.

“Take as much time to consider as you need,” Chakotay told her with a chivalrous little bow of his head, as if he hadn’t just propositioned her in so many words.

Part of her wanted to send him back to contemplate his outrageous request from the inside of the cargo bay for the next 10,000 light years or so, but a different part, which was growing stronger by the hour here in the Delta quadrant, was arguing for a new approach to challenges. The old playbook wasn’t going to be nearly enough out here. Chakotay’s own physical presence was arguing, too, in a way she would rather not allow to influence her decision. Janeway crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t need to consider further,” she answered, in her best tone of command. “A Captains’ Dance is a logical step in this situation. I accept. My quarters, 2030 hours.”


	3. The Ritual

After much pacing in front of her closet, Janeway answered the door still in uniform, boots shined, not a hair out of place, ready for inspection. She wanted to begin this Captains’ Dance in the role of Captain, to be perfectly clear about the professional reasons why they were doing this. Chakotay stepped inside looking nervous and smelling of soap, with both hands cupped around something she couldn’t see.

“I didn’t want to get caught carrying something like flowers to you, but I didn’t want to come empty-handed. I made this. It’s not much, but I want you to have it,” he said as he opened his hands. On one palm sat a tiny wooden replica of the Valjean, his pulverized ship, detailed down to the call numbers and individual portals. It must have taken him many hours to carve, even with a well-tuned laser chisel. 

Janeway put a hand out toward the gift, then hesitated. 

“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” she said. “This isn’t a date, it’s a …” and then words failed her. If he was Valjean, she reflected, did that make her Inspector Javert? Did he see her that way: vindictive, merciless, with no compassion for his people’s suffering? She could certainly relieve his concerns on that count. She had great sympathy for the Maquis. Although in the Alpha quadrant she had been duty-bound to enforce Starfleet’s hardline position against them, personally she had considered it overly harsh. And the little carved ship was beautiful – a touching, thoughtful offering from one captain to another of the thing he had sacrificed for the good of them all.

“It’s a ritual,” Chakotay finished for her. “I know. My people are strong believers in ritual. Rituals require physical objects to carry the meaning forward. This little ship represents what I was fighting for. It’s important to me that you understand why we were out there in the Badlands.”

“I see,” Janeway said. “In that case, I am honored to accept it. Thank you. I want to know more about why you joined the Maquis. I want to understand.” She opened her right hand, palm up, and let him set the wooden ship on it. His hand slid around the edge of hers and she shivered involuntarily.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Her glare was back in an instant at the suggestion of weakness. “I’m not afraid,” she snapped, then immediately regretted her tone. She turned and walked to a shelf where she settled the ship carefully next to a small collection of old, printed books. She pivoted to face him with a firm stance. 

"I took the liberty of assigning you quarters adjacent to mine, so that you'll have an explanation for your absence from the cargo bay this evening. You should find a uniform and everything you need there. Tomorrow you can oversee assignments for the rest of the new crewmembers."

"Thank you. That was thoughtful of you."

Janeway clasped her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting. “I’ve been searching the database for information on the nature of the Captains' Dance, but as you might imagine, accounts are sparse. There are a few versions in fiction, but I question their accuracy.” She was also not about to share them, as most were erotic verging on pornographic. If her sister ever found out about this - and Phoebe was diabolical at wheedling secrets - she would never hear the end of it.

Chakotay’s lips moved into a close-mouthed smile and Janeway noticed for the first time that he had dimples. It was going to be a long night.

“I don’t think there’s a handbook for this," he said. "It feels awkward to call you Captain in this situation. What would you like me to call you?”

“I suppose … you may call me Kathryn, in this situation,” she said with a stiffness she did not intend but could not seem to control. “What is your first name, Mr. Chakotay?”

“My birth name was Amal Kotay,” he answered. “But Starfleet calls me Chakotay. My language has many familiar and formal names for a single person, a little like Old Russian.”

“What name do you prefer?”

“Chakotay is fine. Usually people mispronounce it, but I don’t mind.”

“Cha – KO – tay?” she attempted. She knew little of the hybrid language his refugee people had developed in exile on Dorvan 5 – a mix of Hidatsa, Navajo, and Algonquin language heritage, she had read. The Universal Translator had rendered language-learning little more than an archaic hobby long before she was born.

“Not quite. In our language, each syllable of the name has separate emphasis. It doesn’t run together. Cha-ko-tay,” he said. She repeated and he instructed several more times until he was satisfied. “That’s it,” he finally smiled. “Now you say my name the way my sister does. It’s good to hear.”

“I’m glad,” Janeway said. “We’ll all need a little bit of home out here.” Suddenly aware that she had a guest in her quarters and there was minimum necessary politeness to be observed, Janeway swung an arm toward the cushion under the viewport. “I’m sorry, would you like something to drink?”

“Some wine might be good for both of us,” Chakotay suggested. “Red?”

“Of course,” Janeway agreed. As she went to the replicator, he took a seat on the cushion beneath the viewport, as she had indicated. She was relieved to see him respond to her prompt. There was room enough there on the long seat for them to face each other and talk without touching. She was not ready yet for physical contact. She hoped very much that he wouldn’t be aggressive about it. 

This would have been easier in some ways if he’d come from a very aggressive species. Klingon mating, for example, would have been a brute physical exercise from which she could easily detach. She sensed that mating with Amal Kotay would require a far higher degree of genuine intimacy. Of that, yes, she was a little afraid. Janeway took the bottle from the replicator, arranged a crisp, welcoming smile on her face, and turned toward her guest.

As she handed over Chakotay’s glass of wine and sat, she offered her opening gambit: “Your Starfleet dossier is a fascinating read, but it doesn’t answer the most important question about you.”

“Why I’d throw away my brilliant career to haul this Maquis rabble around the quadrant in a ship on its last legs?”

Janeway took a sip. “I might have put it more diplomatically than that, but you’ve got the general idea.”

Chakotay tasted the wine. “Not bad. It’s been a while since I enjoyed the luxuries of an Intrepid-class starship.”

It was such a cagey diplomat's answer that Janeway nearly groaned. They weren't going to get anywhere like this. She leaned forward enough to leave just a few inches between them. If anyone was going to get aggressive enough to make this work, it might have to be her.

“I know that you know the specs of my ship, just like you know I've read every scrap of Starfleet intelligence about you. This is a Captains’ Dance, Chakotay. You requested it. Force yourself to get personal.” She sat back with raised eyebrows and waited.

He lifted his glass with an appreciative look. 

“Touché … Kathryn.” 

He took a bigger sip of wine and seemed to consider. “The truth is that I couldn’t sit still for it anymore. Not after the massacre. Every mission, every order I got, boiled my blood. I couldn’t believe that my Starfleet – this organization I’d idolized since childhood – wasn’t tearing the galaxy apart to bring justice to my people. I wanted to spit in the eye of every admiral who sent me on a trade mission. How’s that for personal?”

“It’s better,” Janeway conceded. She could remember times when she’d chafed under Starfleet orders too. Should she confess that, or would it lead him to think that she’d be willing to compromise Starfleet principles to get them home? She wouldn’t, and he needed to know it, but making speeches about protocol wasn't going to establish any bond.

He shifted to face her more directly as she lapsed into reverie. “How about you? Have you ever had doubts about Starfleet, or are you the ideal gung-ho captain?”

“I wasn’t aware that a gung-ho captain was the ideal,” she parried. “I don’t know about you, but my command training emphasized subtlety over the cavalry charge.”

Chakotay emptied his glass and reached to refill it and hers. She had no idea how much synthehol he normally consumed, but she felt sure that he was drinking to drown nerves, just as she was. It was a bold chess player’s move, asking for a Captain’s Dance. She admired it. He must have known that she’d feel compelled to take the dare. Now here they were, both living with the consequences of their respective appetites for risk.

“You know what I mean,” he said as they lifted more wine to their lips. “The Academy gunners who shot to the top of the ranks while the rest of us were trying to figure out how to get our pips in a straight line. I see some of that in you, but there’s something else. Some loss, would be my guess. It’s tempered you.”

If he could see that, she thought, when she’d tried so hard to bury it, how much farther could he see into her soul? She cleared her throat as an old, ugly memory caught there. 

“Yes, I’ve known loss,” she answered. “Have you read my file?”

He shook his head, and again she found that she believed him, for no better reason than his honest face and her own instincts. 

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful for you.”

She drank more wine, cleared her throat, and hauled up the memory with an almost physical effort. 

“It is painful,” she admitted. “But I think I do have to talk about it, if this exchange of ours is going to be worth anything. Most people who know me know that I lost my father under the polar ice cap on Tau Ceti Prime. Less commonly known is the fact that the young ensign who died with him was my first fiancé, Justin Tighe."

Chakotay had lowered his glass to listen with perfect attention. “I’m very sorry,” he said.

"I had … great difficulty recovering from their loss. There's nothing in my Starfleet file - my friends made sure of that - but my mother and sister had to take me home to Indiana and stay with me for several months. I don't remember much of it - suppressed, I suppose. They say the human mind suppresses trauma very effectively. The doctors told me that. But Mom and Phoebe say I stopped functioning. Just lay there and waited to die too.”

”What saved you?” he asked.

She smiled out at the stars. “In the end it was a new assignment, of course. I had the choice of staying in bed or going back to space. Tuvok came to my mother’s house and told me I was being illogical.” She paused and let the memory of Tuvok's brief visit inhabit her. “That sounds like he wasn’t compassionate. He was. He meditated with me. I think he understood my pain better than anyone. But he wouldn’t let it consume me.”

Chakotay waited silently for her to continue.

“There have been other incidents. In my first command, the USS Billings, there was a terrible accident with an away team. They were badly injured because of my decision, and I went back at great personal risk to complete the survey myself. Starfleet saw it as a positive attribute. It probably had a lot to do with my being assigned command of Voyager. But Tuvok ... Tuvok was very concerned. He believes I can be reckless with my own life." 

"Do you think you are?"

Janeway considered. "I can be, if I think it will protect my crew somehow. Perhaps my greatest fear is making a mistake that will bring my crew into harm’s way.”

Chakotay stretched out his hand to cover hers where it lay on the cushion between them. “That is my greatest fear, too.”

Janeway stared first at their hands, then at his face, scanning it for sincerity. There was nothing there to make her withdraw, just pain of his own in the depths of dark brown eyes. She wondered if she would hear about it tonight. She found that she wanted to.

“He’s a good friend to you,” Chakotay observed.

“Tuvok? One of my oldest and best. He’s been my conscience more times than I care to think.”

“But there was never a romantic relationship.”

“With Tuvok? It – well, it had never occurred to me. I’ve known his wife nearly as long as I’ve known him, and he’s much older than I am. Tuvok?” she chuckled mildly to herself. “No, he’s more of a family member, and I’m sure that’s what I am to him. The erratic little sister he keeps an eye on.”

“I see.”

“Did you think there was a romantic relationship between us?” Janeway asked in an incredulous tone.

Chakotay shook his head. “No. It seemed more like family to me, too. But people have all kinds of relationships.”

Janeway rested her glass on the table without pulling her hand away from Chakotay’s. “Like the relationship with your crew member,” she said.

“Pardon?” He looked startled.

“You mentioned it earlier, when you asked for a Captains’ Dance, remember? I told you about my fiancé, and you said you have a relationship with one of the Maquis.”

His shoulders relaxed a notch or two. “Oh, of course. I was hoping that hadn’t made it into your file.”

“Don’t you find it … awkward, having a personal relationship with someone under your command? I realize it’s not a Starfleet vessel, but …” she let the question trail off. She couldn't imagine pursuing a relationship in such flagrant violation of protocol, but perhaps there were circumstances she didn't know about. Maybe the relationship predated the command structure. That would explain it.

“It was a mistake,” Chakotay said, a little too quickly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” She expected him to pull his hand away but he didn’t. He left it right there, warm and heavy on top of hers, and she was glad. 

“No. You’re right to ask. It was a lapse in judgment. When she first came on the ship, she pursued me. B'Elanna warned me, but I was ... I might as well tell you the truth. I was hurting and angry and throwing protocol to the wind was just one more way to spit in the eye of Starfleet. Then about five minutes after it started I realized what a stupid thing I'd done and I tried to end it, but it’s hard to stay away from someone on a ship that size. And she’s very … persistent.” Chakotay looked as if he was working very hard not to shield his face with his hand to hide his embarrassment. "I only told you about her to put you at ease."

"We all make mistakes," Janeway said. “Voyager could be a chance to make a new beginning.” 

“Yes. I’ve already told her it won’t continue here. She didn’t take it well. If she knew what we’re doing here ….” His eyes fell on their joined hands for a long moment before he looked up with amusement. “She’d be at the door with a plasma rifle!” 

Janeway pretended alarm. “Let’s make sure she doesn’t find out!” 

“She will never find out,” Chakotay said solemnly. He took her hand and turned it over. With the opposite forefinger, he traced the lines on her palm. “And your fiancé?” he asked. “What kind of man is he?”

Janeway shifted slightly toward him to hide the chill that ran up her arm at his light touch. 

“Mark,” she said. “He’s a philosophy professor. Old family friend, we’ve known each other forever. We’re very comfortable together.”

“Comfortable,” Chakotay repeated, as if testing the feel of the word on his tongue. Janeway laughed. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like that. We know each other well, that’s all. No surprises. Surprises are the last thing a starship captain needs when she gets home.” 

He made no comment but began to massage her hand, from the tips of each finger, around each joint, then down into the pads and tendons, then the scaphoid, lunate, and triquetrum of her wrist. Janeway pressed her shoulder into the cushion and tried not to sigh aloud at how good it felt, one hand then the next, his magical fingers working the tension out of hers. 

“You’re very good at that,” she said when he had finished.

“My mother had rheumatoid arthritis. She was very traditional and refused Starfleet medicine, so massage was part of her treatment regimen. I learned from the tribal medicine woman who was her therapist.”

“I’d like to hear more about your tribe, and your childhood.”

“I’d like to tell you more. I’m not sure where to begin. The crew will face dangers here that neither of us can imagine, let alone prepare for,” he said. “There is no room for not trusting each other. If there’s anything you need to know about me, ask me now. I’ll do my best to answer.”

His eyes were scanning her too, taking in all the evidence of her voice, her posture, her words, surely trying to make the same sorts of gut judgments she was attempting to make. They studied each other’s faces, barely blinking, with an intensity that would have sent her running from the room in any other situation. With Chakotay in this fateful hour, though, she felt that looking through his eyes to whatever lay behind them was the only way to ensure some measure of safety for her crew. 

At length, apparently satisfied with what he had seen, Chakotay dropped his gaze. She put her hand on his this time and said gently, “Tell me about your childhood.”


	4. What Do You Read?

“What do you read?” Chakotay asked at some late point in the conversation, after both had kicked off their boots and settled more comfortably onto the cushions. 

Over a couple of bottles of wine and some salty replicated snacks whose remains now littered the table beside them, Janeway and Chakotay had meandered through the territory of their respective childhoods, first loves, first commands, favorites and dislikes, raunchy jokes, and a great many common acquaintances whose quirks and mishaps they shared freely, with great laughter. 

Hours had passed. She was sleepy, but the conversation carried her. She didn’t want it to end. He turned out to be a rare combination of profound and irreverent. She was fast arriving at the conclusion that a long journey with such a man was not a thing to dread. And so few people understood, as Chakotay plainly did, both her tightly regimented world and the fact that beneath the rank, she was still a human being. Somehow, he saw her.

Their legs touched at the center of the cushion and as they spoke, they emphasized their words with casual contact: a pat on an arm or a light, backhanded slap to a leg. When he noticed her rubbing away the strain of those high-heeled boots, he took her foot between his hands, peeled off the sock, massaged it until the cramp subsided, then did the same for the other foot. She lay back against the cushions and watched him through half-closed eyes, trying not to make any noise that would betray the immense pleasure radiating up her legs or her growing wish that he would start the next massage at the top of her head and work his way down.

Aside from the massages, he mirrored her gestures toward him. His casual touches never reached farther or with more pressure than hers already had. She had tested him a few times. His responses were consistent. She lay a hand on his shoulder as she shared a story, and reliably, a few minutes later he touched her the same way. Once when he squeezed her shoulder, she moved to sit under his arm, legs curled under her, resting against him. Chakotay snugged her closer and moved his hand down her arm, but his hand didn’t wander to the curve of her breast only inches away. She began to feel comfortable, even safe, in their growing proximity. His large mass beside her was not a threat but a warm, protective bulwark.

His question about reading reminded her of a recent gift, a book she’d been reading a few treasured pages at a time before she fell asleep. It was an easy sort of revelation to share, but also something precious and personal that she was happy to offer up in response to his kindness and the stories about his family that had kept her laughing for so long that she’d felt a stitch in her side. 

Janeway smiled. “I’ll show you.”

When she came back from the bedroom, he reached for the book. She settled back in, toes tucked under his calf, and pulled a blanket over their legs as he paged through the volume. His voice was an irresistible caress as he chose a passage from Dante and began to read.

_From then on I say that Amor governed my soul, which was so soon wedded to him, and began to acquire over me such certainty and command, through the power my imagination gave him, that I was forced to carry out his wishes fully. He commanded me many times to discover whether I might catch sight of this most tender of angels, so that in my boyhood I many times went searching, and saw her to be of such noble and praiseworthy manners, that certainly might be said of her those words of the poet Homer: ‘She did not seem to be the daughter of a mortal man, but of a god’. And though her image, that which was continually with me, was a device of Amor’s to govern me, it was nevertheless so noble a virtue that it never allowed Amor to rule me without the loyal counsel of reason in all those things where such counsel was usefully heard._

The sound soothed Janeway to the point that she began to nod against the cushion. She was almost fully asleep when the voice ceased. A moment later, drifting at the edge of consciousness, she felt strong arms around her shoulders and under her knees. It was a feeling she knew from childhood, the perfect safety of being carried sleeping to bed by strong and loving arms. With a sleepy child’s instinct, she stretched her arms around Chakotay’s neck and let her head loll against his chest. 

Somewhere between the couch and the bed, her head cleared enough to realize what was happening. The evening had been so charming and quiet, with such sweet confidences exchanged and the building of such a surprising bond, that she had begun to believe that their emotional connection would suffice and they would never progress to the more physical elements of the Captains’ Dance. She now knew and trusted Chakotay far more than she had when he had first arrived at her door that night – more than almost anyone she knew, remarkable in such a short time – but she could not ignore the fact that he was now stretching her out on her bed.


	5. The Seduction of Amal Kotay

The bed dipped as Chakotay rested a knee on the edge to settle Janeway’s head on her pillow. She kept her eyes closed but her mind had gone to full red alert. Somewhere in the last few minutes she had lost control of the situation. She had to take it back. Whatever happened tonight would shape their command relationship, possibly for years to come. He would draw important conclusions from it, as would she. She could not allow him to dominate, but she must also demonstrate that she would be a good partner, receptive and fair. 

As Chakotay smoothed her hair back from her forehead with one gentle hand, Janeway opened her eyes to examine his face. It was thoughtful as he studied her, not predatory as she had distantly feared, now that they came to crunch time. When he saw her eyes open, he smiled and his hand stilled against her hair. 

“I couldn’t leave you curled up in that position. You’d have woken up crippled.”

“That was nice of you.”

He was leaning over her slightly, where he’d bent to rest her on the bed. She expected him to lean in to kiss her, but when he didn’t, she seized the opportunity to make the first move. She reached up to cup his neck with her fingers and smooth the soft hairs at the nape. He shut his eyes and tilted his cheek against her hand, one arm still under her knees where he’d carried her. She felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“I’m not aware of any protocol for this,” she whispered. 

His eyes opened and he looked at her with the same tenderness that had made her first unbend enough to tell him about her breakdown after Justin’s death. She could count on one hand the number of people who knew about that.

“We’ll have to improvise,” he said. His voice had dropped an octave. He took both her hands in his and brought them to his mouth, to drop a kiss on each one. 

Janeway sat up so that their faces were only inches apart. His eyes fell to her lips again, as they had on their first meeting. As light as a breath, she closed the gap and brushed his lips with hers. This close he smelled of wine and the warm wool of the shirt under his leather vest. He gasped at the moment of contact and opened his mouth so that his lower lip grazed her upper, barely touching. 

The invitation of his open mouth drew her in. She opened her mouth just enough to take in his lower lip, a tentative taste. There was only a split second’s hesitation before he responded, opening his mouth to trace her upper lip with his tongue. She expected at any second that he would end this delicate dance by pushing her back onto the bed. 

She was prepared to roll him right over, get on top, and start undressing him to claim the momentum, as if this were some sort of sexual martial art – but none of it happened. He went on kissing her in the same maddeningly languid way, until she felt her nipples harden and moisture pool between her legs, and still he did nothing but kiss her with such focus and thoroughness that she felt every soft stroke of his tongue right down to her toes.

She forgot all calculation of advantage. The kisses were marvelous and making her weak all over when she could least afford to be. She wanted him to stop wasting time and put his hands on her. She had already decided to participate in the ritual. She had made the decision for purely practical reasons even before he walked through her door tonight, and Kathryn Janeway never backed out. 

Now, though, as Chakotay gave his full attention to her lips, drifting occasional kisses onto her nose and cheeks and chin, she found her body responding out of instinct rather than intent. She hadn’t expected this captains’ dance to be a chore exactly, but she also hadn’t expected to have to restrain her desire to have him naked, on her bed, right now. 

When she pulled away, he took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. As if by instinct, his hands moved to hide his groin, but not before she saw the erection pressing at his trousers. He seemed about to say something, but then Janeway began to open the front of her uniform jacket and he stopped and swallowed hard. His eyes followed every inch as she unfastened the jacket and let it fall open. He took another deep breath.

“Could I … see your hair down?” he asked in a voice that sounded very ready to apologize when the answer was no.

She put a hand to her tightly coiled coiffure. She had never taken it down in front of another person. It was normally a solitary exercise in the bathroom, getting all the pins out, brushing away the kinks and the stiff places where she’d gelled it into submission. It would look funny. He would see it. She would rather not. And yet, this was a Captains’ Dance – an exchange of vulnerabilities. This was one of hers.

“All right,” she said. “There are a lot of pins. Could you help me?”

“Of course.”

She turned her back to him and sat cross-legged. He knelt behind her and began to pull out pins. The long curls came loose one by one, and he combed his fingers through them until they lay soft around her shoulders, then he rubbed the pads of his fingers across her scalp until she tilted her head back and sighed.

“Ah, that feels much better.” 

She pushed up onto her hands and knees to turn around and kneel facing him. As she did so, he loosened the front of his vest so that it fell open like her jacket. When he looked up and saw her hair falling around her face, astonishment crossed his face, followed by wonder.

“You’re very beautiful, Kathryn.” 

With two fingers, he reached out to smooth the rough end of a curl into a perfect swirl over her heart, then let go.

Janeway smiled. She thought of telling him how handsome he was, but she suspected he already knew – any man who would propose a Captains’ Dance had to be fairly confident in his own attractiveness. Instead she stood up on her knees to push his vest off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft whump and she knelt again. 

Following the pattern they had established, he put his hands on the lapels of her uniform jacket, pushed it off her shoulders, and slid it down her arms. She inhaled with a shudder at the touch. He paused. 

“Is this okay?” he asked. 

His head was so close to hers that she could easily touch him with her lips, so she did, letting them slide along his cheekbone. 

“Yes.” 

Janeway pulled her hands out of the sleeves. Chakotay folded the jacket lengthwise and dropped it behind him on top of the vest. They faced each other again. They were both still fully clothed – they could rush to the bridge like this for a sudden red alert if they had to – but she suddenly felt more exposed than if she’d met him naked at the door. Their eyes met in mutual acknowledgment. They were going to do this. What was even more incredible, she wanted it, more than she could remember ever wanting sex in her life - although at the moment, she couldn’t think of a single other man’s face or name. Surely he could see that in her face, as she could see the mounting desire in his lowered chin and the way he panted lightly through parted lips as his eyes moved up and down her body. 

But now they were at an impasse. He had made clear that he wouldn’t push her. It was up to her to make the next move. It was appropriate, Janeway thought, considering what an elaborate chess game all this was. What did her intuition tell her about how best to seduce Amal Kotay?


	6. The Good Girl

The secret had to lie in drawing him in, just as she was doing by making him First Officer. With sudden decision, Janeway turned around again so that the fastening of her uniform shirt was facing him. In spite of the high-tech magnetic seam, it was always a little awkward reaching back to loosen the garment. He’d worn one long enough himself. He would understand. 

She tilted her head forward, suddenly conscious of how vulnerable she’d made herself by turning her back on him. But she wasn’t a fool. She had a phaser hidden behind the headboard and a mirror on the far wall gave her a small vantage point on his movements.

“Help me with this?” she asked.

He took her hair in both hands and seemed to weigh it before he laid it carefully aside on her shoulder. Before touching the seam, he put his hands on her neck and smoothed the tense tendons. As he felt her relax, he massaged down to her shoulders in long strokes that seemed to melt her bones. Janeway rested her hands on her thighs as they clenched and new warmth gathered between her legs. She was going to climax from his massages alone if she wasn’t careful, and what sort of message would that send about her self-control?

She was relieved when his hands moved to open the back of her shirt. She had another one underneath it, of course – and he would know that too. He parted the top few inches and laid three soft kisses along her cervical vertebrae, where her neck was most sensitive. She gasped at the last one and he stopped.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” 

She turned her face enough to show him her profile. He continued to peel open her shirt and followed the line of her spine with his mouth, through the fabric of the tank, then knelt with his knees on either side of her hips to bare her arms in a slow caress from shoulder to wrist. She trembled at the sensation. He pulled the shirt away and tossed it over the side of the bed, then his hands settled on her hips and she heard his rough breath in her ear.

Janeway tilted her head to expose her neck and his mouth fell there as if by choreography. His kisses moved from her earlobe down her neck to the angle with her shoulder, where he suckled softly and let his teeth graze her skin. The unaccustomed roughness was exquisite, but she raised her hand to the spot.

“Don’t leave a mark,” she said.

“I won’t leave any where they’ll show.” His voice was a growl against her skin.

And of course he was right. Her uniform would completely cover almost her entire body. There was something thrilling and naughty about the idea of standing on the bridge covered in the marks of their passion, with no one knowing but him and her. She slid her hands up and down her thighs and only with effort managed to keep them away from the stimulated center throbbing below her navel.

Janeway put her hands to the bottom of her uniform tank with its built-in bra, eager to feel his hands on her bare skin. Chakotay put his hands on top of hers.

“May I?” 

She exhaled and slowly raised her arms. He took a moment to kiss her neck in a way that forced a little involuntary whimper from her, then he bunched the fabric at the bottom of her shirt in his hands. He raised it so gradually that she could feel his knuckles graze her sides every inch as he bared her back, an excruciating progress as the shirt slid up over her nipples and exposed them to the cool air. The tank pulled her hair up – he nuzzled her neck again – then let it fall around her shoulders in a soft cascade as he cast the garment away.

She abandoned any sense of quid pro quo to lean back and draw his hands up to her breasts with a ragged sigh. It was easier this way, not looking at him. She felt freer to guide him exactly where she wanted him. As he massaged around her areolas, her mouth fell open. She thought for a moment of falling to the bed and stripping off her trousers so that he could touch her there – right there – where her body was screaming to be touched. Her hands went to her waistband, opened it in invitation, began to push her panties down.

Chakotay took the hint. His right hand smoothed down her belly and slid into her panties, where one finger tested the wetness of her vulva. He moaned into her neck as his finger submerged in the slick between her legs. She couldn’t help but raise her hips slightly to press into his hand. The muscles of her vagina clenched, aching for him. Duty had left the picture. She wanted him more than she could remember wanting any other man – although at the moment, she couldn’t think of a single other man’s face or name. She wanted to attack him.

He extended another finger between her labia and drew them up to coat her clitoris. She hissed and rubbed against his hand, but it wasn’t enough. She needed all of him, before they did anything else. She needed that absolute connection. Her hands reached behind her to fumble with his non-regulation waistband – some maddening collection of fasteners not seen in Federation factories in years – for long enough that he withdrew his hands to open it for her. An instant later his stiff cock nudged her back.

Janeway rose up on her knees to push her trousers and panties to her thighs. She stretched an arm to pull Chakotay close and took his cock in the other hand to fit it between her legs. He put his arms around her, one hand to her breast, the other to her vulva.

“You want it like this? Right now?” He was hoarse and his breath came in gasps.

She nodded and swallowed as she cast for words more eloquent than _Now. Hard. Now._

“Yes,” she said. “I want it.”

With her fingers guiding, he nudged at her entrance and fit the tip inside, taking his time filling the tight opening. He wet his fingers between her legs and moved them back to her nipple as the fingers of his other hand circled her clitoris. Still it wasn’t enough. Janeway pushed back hard to take him in all at once and Chakotay cried out loudly in surprise and pleasure. She bent at the waist and braced herself on her hands to let him penetrate even more deeply.

“Oh spirits!” he cried. “Kathryn!” He grabbed her hips, pulled out a little, and plunged in more deeply than before. She grunted and pushed onto him, straining for the final centimeters.

“Yes!” she said as her body strained to adapt. “Harder!”

She clenched her teeth and struggled to maintain control as he began to pound at her, all restraint gone. Janeway dropped her head and gripped the bedcover. She couldn’t forget herself. There were mission priorities at stake here, even as her body reacted to Chakotay’s motion inside her with an explosive wave of ecstasy that threatened to drown her senses completely. 

She glanced over her shoulder. Chakotay had gone red in the face with the effort, and at some point he had stripped off his heavy wool shirt to expose a smooth, tawny chest that only excited her more. The stark physical reality of what she was doing was suddenly bared for her. Her chest heaved. She could still count the number of hours she had known this man. She had never in her life had a one-night stand, never thrown caution to the wind and gone home from a party with a new, intoxicating acquaintance. She had been the good girl all her life, and what had it gotten her? Not a single night like this.

Her breathing stopped as a new flood of pleasure consumed her. She rose up on her knees and stretched her arms around Chakotay’s neck as she began to shake and clutch. He held her upright, his cock trembling inside her, as her vagina convulsed around him. A second later, he was jerking with her, coming hard with guttural cries as they fell together onto the bed.


	7. You've Never Had It Done Properly

Afterward, they rested tangled together, sweaty and spent. She lay across his arm and his hand still grasped her breast, while his heart thudded against her shoulder blade, slowly subsiding to a normal rate. Janeway felt drunk and elated and mildly panicked all at once as she twined her leg around his and semen trickled across her thigh with the movement. She could feel his breath on her neck but hoped he wouldn’t speak. She would have no idea how to answer anything he said. She did not know herself in this abandoned state. 

Synthehol didn’t have this effect. If it got to this point, she had expected competent, fairly mechanical sex during which she would lie back and think of Starfleet and the lodestar of getting her crew home – not a tilt in the rotation of the planets. She had no map to make her way back from what she had just experienced. How could she return to an arm’s-length professional command relationship with the man whose knee had nestled between her thighs and whose big hand now rested firmly on her bare bottom? She would have to deal with that tomorrow. 

For now, she let him hold her close and spread her long hair across his skin, dropping occasional feather-light kisses on her head. Her fingers moved through the sparse hairs along his arm. In contrast to the thick brush on top of his head, the rest of him was exceptionally smooth for a man. The dim light filtering from the main room allowed her to admire the contrast between their skin colors: her pale fingers, his golden skin rising and falling as he breathed. She wanted this to continue approximately forever, but there were only a few short hours – if that – between now and the beginning of their first alpha shift as a command team.

“I have a confession,” he said against the back of her head, where it lay along his jawbone.

“Tonight is the night for that,” she answered. She had gathered herself enough to shift to lie on her back, where she could see his face. She let her hand wander down his torso, designing lazy patterns on his skin. He moaned lightly and put his hand over hers to still it.

“When I asked for a Captains’ Dance, I didn’t really think it would go this far,” he said. She felt his lips moving against her hair but the words didn’t entirely register.

“Hmm?” Janeway hummed in a sleepy tone, eyes half closed. “This is the ritual, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but … when you fell asleep out there, I thought that would be the end of it. I didn’t want to wake you, as hard as you’ve been working, and in such an awkward position. You were just so beautiful, sleeping that way. I couldn’t resist carrying you in here. I thought you’d probably tell me off for picking you up like that. Then when you kissed me … well, I didn’t expect you to seduce me.” He chuckled and she felt the warm rumble in his belly. “Although I’m very glad you did.”

“I seduced you?” Janeway propped herself on an elbow to see if he was serious. Her hair fell around her and his eyes went involuntarily to her breasts. She forced herself to brave his gaze and not pull up the sheet. She had never had much use for false modesty. He was here to learn about her character – let him learn. 

“You’re the one who demanded a Captains’ Dance. You came here, brought me a present, rubbed my feet, told me about your Nana, read me poetry of all things – and then you carried me into the bedroom and climbed on my bed. I’ll admit to not being the most sexually experienced woman on board, but I know when I’ve been seduced.” 

His eyes showed amusement, but he had the sense not to laugh any more. “I’m not complaining in the least. Nor am I denying that I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. But I certainly wouldn’t have pressed the issue if you’d seemed reluctant tonight. I just didn’t expect you to be … assertive … the way you were.” 

He put his hand to her face with an expression of such tenderness – she had expected assertiveness from him, but never this open, loving engagement of his whole self – that she swallowed again.

“You’ve been the most extraordinary surprise, Kathryn.”

She saw him studying her for any response. He had been an extraordinary surprise, too. If this were real – _and it’s not_ , she reminded herself firmly – she would be falling hard for him already. He was so many things she had longed for in a partner but never found in one man. But if this were real, she would never have let it go so far so quickly. She would have been cautious, like so many times before. She would have – _be honest, Kathryn_ – let him slip away without ever acknowledging something as obvious as the irresistible pull of his jugular notch, which simply called out for her tongue, let alone the power of their connection.

As she indulged her urge to kiss his throat, part of her longed to open her heart and tell him how deeply he had touched her – but she must think like a captain, not like a woman. She had to keep her wits about her. This was the Captains’ Dance. She had one chance, this one night, to secure his permanent loyalty, for the good – the survival – of both their crews. It was no time for half measures or foggy sentimentality. Janeway raised up and shifted to sit on top of his legs. She had a few tricks left to ensure his devotion.

“Do I seem reluctant to you?” she purred as she lowered her breasts to graze his legs and licked the length of his cock, then pulled back the foreskin to take the tip in her mouth. Chakotay groaned and reached down to sink his fingers into her hair as she sucked at him.

“You seem like every fantasy I’ve ever had, rolled into one,” he said in a strained voice as his hips jerked. She slid her fingers along his shaft and increased the pressure at the tip minute by minute, until, with a low cry, he spurted into her mouth. She crawled back up his body and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her comprehensively.

“Not many men like to do that either,” she said as their mouths slid apart.

He ran a finger around the mouth that had just pleasured him. “I think my upbringing was a lot less … conventional than yours.” He smiled. “I’ve tasted semen before, Kathryn, and not just my own.”

“You didn’t say you were bisexual.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always been much more attracted to women than men. But we were very free in our sex play as kids on Dorvan. Our culture encouraged it, and disease had been eradicated. If there’s a way to insert tab A into slot B, I’ve probably tried it.”

“That sounds awfully mechanical,” Janeway said wryly. 

“It wasn’t, though. The planet was so green and beautiful then, and we were innocent. It was like Eden before the fall. If I’d known you then,” he said as he gripped the left cheek of her bottom firmly in his hand, “let’s just say we’d have worked our way through the Kama Sutra and a few other guidebooks before we left for the Academy.” 

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She rolled off and lay face to face with him, the pillow tucked under her head.

“You never told me about the mating rituals of your people,” she said. “You just said you’d never disclosed them to the anthropologists. I think I’m starting to understand why.”

He had leaned in to line up tiny kisses on her shoulder and she felt him smile against her skin. 

“We didn’t want to be dissected that way and turned into another culture’s exotic fantasy. The only way to find out is … well, this way.” He ran an appreciative hand along the womanly curve of her side and left it solidly planted on her hip. Far from the man who had been so hesitant earlier, she observed, he now felt completely free in touching her wherever he liked. She would have to put a stop to that before they were back on the bridge, but not just yet.

“By having sex with you endlessly?” she laughed. “That’s very convenient … for you.”

“Oh, I think you’d find it very tolerable,” he teased with a strike of his tongue at her nipple.

She slapped his arm and laughed some more as he rolled her under him to tickle her, then began a deliberate progress of his mouth down her body.

“Oh,” she said as she realized his intent. “I’ve never – you know – been able to come that way.”

Chakotay raised his head from between her legs and gave her the most devilish grin yet.

“That’s because you’ve never had it done properly.”


	8. An Admiral's Daughter Never Cries

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat watching the man beside her, the near-stranger she must now trust with the lives of all her crew. It was very late, or rather very early. She didn’t want to wake Chakotay by asking the computer for the time. Instead she stretched her tired body gently, so as not to disturb him, and attempted to create order in her mind out of the extremes of sensation and emotion she had just encountered. 

The raw need he had awakened in her the first time he’d penetrated her was so far outside her experience that she wasn’t even sure it was sex they’d had. It had been something beyond. They had seemed about to consume each other. 

The second time had been playful, joyful, and intimate – starting with a climax she would never have believed possible from cunnilingus. Damn straight she’d never had it done properly before tonight, although she wouldn’t be admitting that to him. She didn’t need an insufferably smug First Officer for the next 70,000 light years on top of everything. Then there had been real lovemaking, a soulful joining not to be mistaken for mere intercourse, staring into each other’s eyes until she had to shut hers to hide the tears. 

They had come together a third time when she had awakened to find him brushing silent kisses down her body in an attitude of reverence. No words that time, just a body poem, touching each other to cement knowledge that would have to last them for years – or for a lifetime. He had kept quiet as he cradled her in his arms and rocked against her, but she felt a tear fall from his eye to her skin. It almost burned.

Her gaze settled on his tattoo, which she now felt sure she could trace from memory. Somewhere in the lost hours, had she traced it with her tongue? She was afraid she had. She had lost track of firsts, of things she had never thought to do with her body or with a man before tonight.

Now Chakotay slept again beside her, sprawled on his back, snoring softly, so beautiful in repose that she wanted him all over again as much as the first time. How had she let it come this far? Janeway was naked, exhausted, sore, hoarse, and in such an aggravated state of arousal that even the brush of cool sheets against her skin was almost unbearable. She might collapse into orgasm again if she tried to cover herself, so she sat bared to the room, legs apart and bent, propped on her arms, letting the air currents soothe her flesh. She was covered in their shared juices and wanted a bath and fresh sheets, but that would come later, after he had drawn the last smothered screams from her throat. She sincerely hoped there were a few left. She was counting on it.

She should be passed out like Chakotay, but instead she was wide awake, struggling to parse the meaning of their Captains’ Dance and all that would flow from it. The terms of the ritual were clear. After this night, they would never speak again of what they had shared, to each other or anyone else. It would not exist, even in their personal logs – like the hidden foundation stone on which a building rests, never seen but indispensable. 

Starting this morning, she and Chakotay would sit beside each other on the bridge and allow this overwhelming lust they had shared to subside like a tide flowing out, leaving behind the flotsam and jetsam of their daily work routine, schedules and surveys, reports and emergencies, all the quotidian boredom and adrenalin that she hoped would quickly bury the memory of this night. They would confer over staff issues in her ready room and pretend that neither of them was thinking of the curves and indentations of the other’s naked body or the way their voices harmonized when crying out in climax. It would be difficult at first, but they would manage. The years would take care of it.

Her eyes traversed the room in search of a calming place to rest and fell on the image of her family on the small table beside the door. Her fiancé, Mark, was in the back row with a big grin, holding her little cousin Jeri. Mark had always longed for children. She’d put him off for years – always another mission, another promotion – to the point where he seemed to have given up the idea. Dear, tolerant Mark. Janeway smiled indulgently, then realized with a start that she hadn’t thought of Mark for a moment after her lips had touched Chakotay’s. 

She had prepared herself for guilt and shame and schooled her mind to accept the professional necessity of a successful Captains’ Dance, but in all her mental calculations, she had never imagined that in Chakotay’s arms, she would forget Mark entirely. Now that she considered the contrast between Mark’s occasional, tepid lovemaking, which emphasized cuddling far more than the act of sex, and everything she had just done – frenzied and wanton – with Chakotay, another genuine blush crept up her bare throat. Mark wouldn’t have recognized her. She hardly recognized herself, she realized, as her thoughts drifted back over the last few hours and triggered a new ache between her legs.

Her light startle at her thoughts about Mark disturbed Chakotay enough that he rolled against her and stretched a heavy arm around her waist, possessive already – and futilely. The hours during which she could be his were ticking fast to their conclusion. At the feeling of her sitting up, he opened his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His hand came up her chest – a warm, exploring lover’s caress that took in her breast quite naturally and made her whole body quiver – to stroke her jawbone and gently turn her face toward him.

“I’m okay,” she promised as she slid down against the pillows to face him. Her hair fell around her. He curled a long lock through his fingers and brushed it across his lips.

“I don’t want this night to end,” he said. His fingers roamed across the tops of her breasts. “I know there are things we aren’t supposed to say, but you’ve astonished me in so many ways, Kathryn. You are … beautiful, and wise, and very brave. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

 _Anyone._ When they had discussed his “mistake” of a relationship with a Maquis, Janeway had felt nothing. But now, his words resonated all through her. The idea of someone else’s claim on him struck deep down in the taut muscles of her belly. It was madness to think of him this way, as hers, fundamentally hers, in a way that time could not alter, when time was taking him away from her every second. She clenched her body against such an illogical emotion and clasped his hand.

“We can’t say anything that reaches outside this room or this night,” Janeway answered. “That’s the only way this works. Maybe one day we’ll be in a place where we can return to these feelings, but not here. Not aboard this ship. Maybe not ever.” 

Chakotay’s dark eyes were inscrutable. He looked as if he wanted to say more, or was having some internal conversation she wished she could hear. Finally he kissed her nose, loosed his warm hand from hers to run it down her side and onto her hip, a gesture already fond and familiar, and said, “Then I want to make love to you again. While there’s still time.” 

She could do nothing but reach for him.

As he rolled her on top of him, eyes open, memorizing every angle of her, she tried to memorize the feeling too, in case this was the last time. There might be long years ahead when she would have to play the dutiful captain, uphold all the protocols, with this man at her side but hopelessly distanced. She would have to remember their bond, their trust, but forget what she had felt. 

So much might happen. Surely there would be conflict. There might be other relationships – more likely his than hers, because he would be freer without the final responsibility of the captain’s role. She would have to accept those other relationships, even encourage him to find his happiness elsewhere. She could not presume to hold him on the strength of this one night, no matter how much it meant to each of them. 

Sunek’s words came back to her, amplified and elaborated in new and alarming ways. The risk was not the sort of risk she had expected. She had not calculated the possibility of losing her heart, or receiving a worthy heart that she was in no position to accept. As her limbs shivered under Chakotay’s touch and she clutched him to her, she suddenly wanted to weep, but her training was there, as always, as a safety net: An admiral’s daughter never cries. This was a test, after all – a diplomatic maneuver of the highest order. This was the Captains’ Dance, and she would keep dancing until the music stopped.


	9. I Will Never Forget

The alarm woke them. Janeway found herself with her back to Chakotay, head pillowed on his arm, his other arm across her loosely and their fingers twined together. It was lovely to imagine, just for a minute or two, that they awoke this way every morning, curled together and spent from lovemaking. She had never intended for him to stay. She had never intended so much of what had just happened. 

“What is that sound?” Chakotay asked. “It’s beautiful.”

Janeway listened for the subtle, happy sound of her personal alarm, so familiar she almost didn’t hear it anymore. She inhaled and exhaled a deep, controlled breath. The Captains’ Dance was over. Now was the time to consolidate the advantage she had gained. She lifted Chakotay’s arm off her and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“It’s the larks on my mother’s farm, back on Earth,” she said reluctantly. It was one more piece of herself given away to him, just as she was beginning to fathom how difficult it would be to claw herself back in the days to come.

Today, Chakotay would put on a Starfleet uniform and take the First Officer’s chair. Today, he would order his crew to unify with hers, into the one Starfleet crew that would get them home. She had done the necessary thing, and if in the years to follow the cost seemed higher than she might have chosen willingly, there was nothing to do about that but endure.

Janeway rose, still naked and very aware of Chakotay’s eyes on her, to circle the bed and take her robe from the closet. Swiftly, she covered herself, then ran her fingers through her impossibly tousled hair. Her eyes lifted to look back at Chakotay. As he flattened himself on his back, the sheet stretched dangerously low on his groin and he made no attempt to cover himself.

“I’ll just … get my shower,” she said. 

When she returned to the bedroom from her sonic shower and a heroic effort at bringing her hair to heel, he was collecting pieces of his clothing from the floor around the bed, stark naked. She stopped short, struck by his smooth flow of muscle, something Michelangelo would have sculpted. It was incredible that she could still feel so much instantaneous desire after everything they had done the night before. She should be sated for weeks to come, but instead she wanted him more than ever.

When he noticed her in the doorway, he faced her and held the clothes in front of him automatically. Their intimacy of the night before had already dissipated, she realized with a dull pang. It would be like this between them from now on. The barriers they had taken down would rise again and there was no telling when or if they would ever fall. She tightened the belt on her robe and stepped forward to retrieve and hand him his shirt, which lay near her foot. The touch that passed between them in the handoff made them both step backward defensively. Without a word, Janeway retreated into the main room to coax her first coffee from the replicator.

When Chakotay had dressed, he came to stand in front of her. He set her coffee on the desk and reached his hands toward her, palms out. She raised her hands and laced her fingers through his, a powerful anchor between them. Janeway looked up to see that here, in the full lighting of the main room, his eyes were not the same shade of angry black she remembered from those first few moments on the bridge, or even the night before, with his angry words about spitting in Starfleet’s eye. Something ineffable had changed in him. Something had lightened. 

Janeway had no idea what to say, so she resorted to ship’s business.

“You’ll find your uniform in your quarters,” she said. “Alpha shift starts at 0800.” 

“Thank you, Kathryn,” he said. “I know we won’t be able to speak of it, but I will never forget this night. I promise you that.”

She couldn’t suppress her sigh. She loosed her right hand and put it to his chest, trying to reach him and make him understand what she must do. His heart pounded under her palm. 

“You must not promise me anything, Chakotay. We could be out here for years. We’ll be a strong team now, I’m sure of that, but we have to do our best to forget the rest of this.”

He lifted his hand to her neck, which had grown as tense and stiff as ever in the minutes since she’d risen from their shared bed. With a subtle grip, he freed the tension. She felt her shoulders relax and drop. Another sigh escaped her lips, this time a sound of release … and regret.

“I won’t forget,” he said with a firm clasp on her shoulder. “And I do promise.”

With a small, determined thrust of his chin, Chakotay took his hands off her and walked out the door without looking back. She held herself upright, almost on tiptoe, until the doors closed. If he had looked back, she was not sure that she could have kept herself from running to him and begging him to stay, move into her quarters – but it was better this way. 

Janeway staggered a step and put both hands on her desk for the strength to stand. Left alone, the greatest challenge of her life entirely ahead of her, she cast her gaze across the room to the tiny wooden ship balanced on a shelf. Chakotay had been right. He hadn’t hurt her. He had given her exactly what she needed, no matter how difficult the gift was to accept right now. She hoped she had done the same for him. 

Slowly, Janeway moved to her closet and let her robe slide to the floor in front of the full-length mirror inside the door. She moved her hands down her body, over the many marks, visible and invisible, he’d left on it. She thought of the marks she’d left on him, how she wouldn’t see them as they faded – although she would look at him, sitting beside her on the bridge, and remember where they were and exactly what she’d felt as she made them. Her fingers found their way to the sore flesh between her legs and she was tempted for a moment to indulge in one last climax, but it was time to move on. She reached for her underclothes and began to cover herself.

An hour later, Janeway was on the bridge when Chakotay entered. He was wearing his Starfleet uniform for the first time, hair slicked back, pips on straight, every inch the Starfleet first officer, with only the tattoo hinting at all that lay beneath. She nodded a greeting without a flicker of familiarity and gestured for him to stand before his chair as she circled the bridge, preparing for the speech the crew so badly needed. She had spent much of the previous day writing and rewriting it – when she wasn’t directing repair crews or searching the database for mentions of the Captains’ Dance.

“We are alone,” she began, “in an uncharted part of the galaxy. We’ve already made some friends here, and some enemies. We have no idea of the dangers we’re going to face. But one thing is clear: both crews are going to have to work together if we’re to survive. That’s why Commander Chakotay and I have agreed that this should be one crew – a Starfleet crew.” 

Janeway paused long enough to look Chakotay in the eye and show him that there would be no discomfort or avoidance between them. They had made their bargain and performed their ritual. He met her gaze with the steady support she had already come to expect from him. The Captains’ Dance was forever behind them now. The great voyage lay ahead. 

“Set a course,” she ordered. “For home.”


	10. Proxima Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Festivus, Jubilant Saturnalia, Happy Chanukah - whatever floats your J/C ship of love. An epilogue of sorts. Enjoy!

The hum of docking and departing starships penetrated the captain’s quarters as Voyager sat at Proxima Station, gleaming with nano-level maintenance and updated parts. Chakotay stirred and pulled Janeway closer.

“Do you remember the last time we were here, like this?” he asked.

“At Proxima?” she asked, limp with contentment and drifting.

“No,” he said. “Here. You in my arms, in this bed.”

She was awake instantly. “Yes. I remember. The Captains’ Dance.”

“You told me I had to forget. I never could.”

She tightened her arm around his chest. “I tried to forget. I couldn’t either.” 

Janeway yawned, stretched, and climbed on top of him, just as she had all those years ago on the far edge of the Delta quadrant. This time she had no purr but a sad, thoughtful face as she studied the new lines and silver hairs he had acquired since the last time they had been this close. They had wasted so many years – but waste was the wrong word. They had brought nearly all their crew home alive and well. She could never regret that. 

“You were right, you know. I was trying to seduce you that night. I thought it was the best way to win your loyalty.”

His dimples creased as his eyes lit with the same amusement he had so often when he looked at her, as if whatever she did was a source of delight to him, although she couldn’t fathom why. She’d caused most of those silver hairs, she was sure of it. 

“You didn’t have to seduce me, Kathryn. You had me at ‘You are speaking to a member of my crew.’ Although, as I think I said at the time, I was very glad you did. I lived on the memory of that night for many years.” He took her wrist in his hand and brushed the delicate underside against his lips.

She closed in for a kiss, then stretched out along the length of him and rested her chin on her hands, inches from his face. 

“There was so much I wanted to tell you that night,” she said. “How much you moved me. The connection I felt. I knew it was over between me and Mark that night, although it took me years to admit it to myself openly. I thought I’d never get to tell you – for a while I was sure one of us would die first - and then later, it seemed as if you’d forgotten after all.” She inhaled hard. “It was a mistake, of course. That Captains’ Dance. Letting it go so far. Those years would have been far easier if I hadn’t been in love with you. Probably easier for you, too.”

His face grew tender as his arms wrapped around her. “It was no mistake, Kathryn. And what makes you think we wouldn’t have fallen in love anyway? I think I was already in love with you when I came to your door with that silly little ship in my hands. That night meant the world to me, even later on when I was bitter and acting like an ass.”

She brushed her fingers across his tattoo. “I owe you apologies for so many things. New Earth especially. You kept trying to remind me of what we’d had that night, what we could have, and I was determined to stay focused on returning to Voyager.”

“What was it your professor said? Something about the value correlating to the risk?”

Janeway nudged his chin with her nose and nodded. “Sunek. Yes. The value correlates highly with the risk.” 

Chakotay’s laugh shook both of them. It was so good to hear him – feel him laugh. He had seemed to forget how, later in their journey. That had been her fault too. 

“That sounds like a perfect description of falling in love with Kathryn Janeway.”

Janeway grinned and scooted up to look him in the eye. “If that’s how you feel about it, Captain, I’d better improve the value proposition.” 

She dropped her mouth to his, determined to drive from his mind all thought of the Captains’ Dance and the long, hard years when they’d held each other at arm’s length – at least for the moment. Chakotay stretched under her like a satisfied feline and willingly succumbed.


End file.
